Black Van Parked in Front of the Prison
A black van was parked in front of the prison.
“Shouldn't we have gone with him anyway?”
“Nah. The actor said he had to go alone.”
“He was pretty firm about it, yeah?”
“Yeah. If we tagged along, we might just get in the way of the interview.”
“Right?”
“·············Yeah, let's go with that.”
“Sigh.”
The manager let out a heavy sigh at the stylist's words. In truth, both of them were secretly relieved. Right at that moment, as they pictured their actor, Lee Tae-gyu, interviewing some loathsome criminal beyond those prison gates.
In this prison, the guy known only as “that bastard”—a gang enforcer, special assault offender, and scum who'd racked up fraud, robbery, even murder charges—had a reputation that made even hardened criminals desperate enough to file complaints with the Human Rights Commission within a month of sharing a cell with him.
'Put me in solitary!'
'We have human rights too, you bastards!'
'Please, officers! Move me, I beg you!'
'I'll go insane if I have to stay with that freak!'
'Holy shit, there's psychos like this in the world?'
The inmates avoided even whispering his name or prisoner number, terrified of getting dragged into his orbit. Sure, he was a criminal with a laundry list of offenses, but he gave off a vibe utterly alien to your run-of-the-mill crook. He hadn't killed anyone, but anyone who'd seen his interviews wouldn't bat an eye if they heard he'd done it in the past—or planned to in the future.
“Why'd it have to be that psycho···”
For a rookie actor doing character research, it was way over the top. Especially now, with all the curious eyes turning his way.
“Still, it's been ages since we've seen an actor go this hard.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Not even in the same league as Kim Hwan.”
“Why bring up that asshole?”
They were nothing like their last client, Kim Hwan. Even after blowing up, that guy had wasted half his day obsessively refreshing SNS every minute, basking in the comments on his posts. Lee Tae-gyu, on the other hand, seemed utterly detached from all the attention. Even now, with his fame spiking so high that acquaintances were hounding the manager and stylist for dirt on him.
Whirr—! Whirr—!
“Anyway, shouldn't have said anything··· Huh?”
“Looks like it's over.”
That was when it happened. Clank.
Through the car window, a man emerged from the prison gates. Lee Tae-gyu. His head hung slightly, his movements sluggish. Even from this distance, it was clear the interview with “that bastard” had worn him out.
“·············Let's go.”
“Okay.”
To greet their hardworking actor, the stylist and manager stepped out and opened the van door. And there—tap-tap-tap—a corrections officer trailed after Lee Tae-gyu from beyond the gate. He called out to Tae-gyu, fumbling for his phone with a hesitant look, saying something.
And then—Tae-gyu nodded casually, like it was no big deal, struck a pose, and snapped a photo with the officer.
Even bone-tired, he'd happily pose for a fan. Impeccable fan service, not just for outsiders but for his own crew, whom he treated with growing ease—and never took for granted. Plus, that unrelenting passion for acting, unflagging even now.
Recalling how rare it was in this industry to find someone with all three qualities—
“Our actor, you know.”
The manager and stylist suddenly shared the same burning question.
“·············How far can he go?”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“·············How far did you say he went?”
In the company gym, Kim Kwang-woo wiped sweat from his face with a towel, eyes widening in disbelief.
“Cheongsong Prison.”
“Pfft-haha!”
Kim Kwang-woo burst into booming laughter. He turned to Manager Jang with a clear, hearty voice.
“·········A prison? What, prepping for some audition role like Joon-bin or whatever?”
“Probably something like that.”
“Man, what a riot.”
He smacked his lips in admiration.
“Turning the industry upside down, and the guy's off to Cheongsong Prison.”
The heavyweights already knew. Lee Tae-gyu's name, already buzzing quietly in the biz, had skyrocketed to near-veteran status in recognition alone.
Han Joo-hyuk the loose cannon, overseas-educated DP Choi Sung-chul, blockbuster director Gu Jeong-hwan, dual-million-seller Seol A-yoon, national little-bro Cheon Yoo-seong—their collective interest in this Lee Tae-gyu had detonated all at once, sparked by the leaked teaser.
The buzz flowed from Lee Tae-gyu to Monster City, then back again, showing no signs of stopping until the show's March premiere.
“·········That guy's got a real schemer's brain.”
Kim Kwang-woo chuckled, thinking of Do Yoon-seop, the mastermind behind this firestorm. Perfect timing. A few weeks later, and it'd clash with the official teaser, fueling leak suspicions. A few weeks earlier, and the ripple effects wouldn't have hit as hard.
“Right now's the sweet spot. Perfect bait.”
Tilting his head, Kim Kwang-woo glanced sideways.
“He doesn't do SNS? Even rookies usually milk the attention with posts like crazy.”
“·········Yeah.”
Manager Jang wiped sweat from his brow and chugged from his water bottle before replying.
“Doesn't seem interested. Company mentioned official accounts, but he was like, whatever.”
“Weird guy, huh.”
Kim Kwang-woo muttered with a strange look. Acting was a lonely gig, surprisingly. Sets had their own vibes, and plenty of actors clocked in, shot their scenes, and bailed like office workers. Gaps between projects could stretch forever—basically unemployment.
That's why so many leaned on SNS for that “connected” feeling. Kim Kwang-woo knew it well.
But.
“·········What's his deal? A rookie's jumping at this hype—he should be losing his mind.”
Lee Tae-gyu wasn't even posting. He'd jumped straight into the next gig.
“Short film, right?”
“Yes. Director says filming's quick—probably wrap before Monster City airs.”
“Jeez.”
“Looks like no big box-office push. Indie cinema run, in and out.”
“When?”
“Director mentioned early summer···but who knows. Doesn't strike me as someone who can juggle schedules.”
“Huh.”
“Not locked in anyway. More auditions lined up.”
“But he liked this script best, yeah?”
“Pretty much.”
“·········Hmm.”
Kim Kwang-woo clicked his tongue. Whether it was really the script or not, if he did this film, his releases would line up like clockwork for the public:
Monster City – This short – Hoshi-jeol
A seamless puzzle, impossibly perfect. It took Kim Kwang-woo back to their first meeting.
'If this was planned···'
That guy who'd stormed into the meeting room, eyes blazing just like CEO Do Yoon-seop—
'············He'll explode big.'
Maybe DK had lucked into the real monster among all the prospects—the one Do Yoon-seop's bomb was made for.
“Manager Jang.”
“Yes.”
“Sometime soon.”
He snapped his fingers, jerked his chin at Jang, and stood.
“Tell him I wanna work out together. Gotta check his muscles and headspace.”
Manager Jang, wiping palm sweat on his towel, got it instantly. “Work out together”—that was Kim Kwang-woo's code for rookies he actually wanted to collab with. A box-office guarantee who outshone even Seol A-yoon.
Thud, thud.
Nodding, Manager Jang followed Kim Kwang-woo to the squat rack.
“Got it.”
“Yeah.”
Staring at his quads and delts rippling in the gym mirror, he muttered with a satisfied grin.
“Can't have some scrawny punk in my movie, right?”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
A scrawny no-name director swallowed hard.
Gulp.
He was on the verge of retirement. Loath to waste his years grinding, he'd planned one modest short to bow out quietly. Now, eyeing the man before him with mixed feelings.
'············Lee Tae-gyu.'
This guy was already making waves industry-wide—without a single TV or official screen credit. Recent rumors: the director who'd trashed his film had “discovered” him; he'd gone toe-to-toe with untouchable Seol A-yoon and earned respect from Cheon Yoo-seong···
'Casting him means no flying under the radar.'
Some folks were like that. For a quiet swan song, they dreaded anything beyond “Oh, cute little thing~”—like “Competing? Let's tear it apart.” Cowardly? Fine. He just wanted his finale controversy-free.
Especially since.
'Hmm.'
His retirement short crammed every wild idea he'd ever had—hence the casting headaches. It was that kind of convoluted mess.
'··················For real?'
Harboring doubts, he asked:
“You really··· wanna do my short?”
“I do.”
“?”
“Ah, sorry.”
The director watched Lee Tae-gyu shake it off, bow politely in apology.
“Yes. I really want to shoot your short film, Director.”
·············He slowly looked down at his script.
Sai-bi Church Maknae Son